The Space Between
by Tishbing
Summary: After Sherlock's death, Joan Watson was just trying to move on in her life but when she finds out she's pregnant with Sherlock's child, things change. Mycroft takes an interest that may be more than his promise of watching out for Watson.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Golden sunlight filtered through the window and a chill permeated the flat causing Joan to shiver into wakefulness. Sitting up, she could see her alarm wasn't set to go off for another hour but she knew that sleep wasn't going to be coming again even though she was tired.

Her therapist had said it was depression...survivor's guilt...broken heart. The list of her reasonings for Joan's abysmal sleep were rising but Joan didn't believe them. She didn't want to. Perhaps she was still stuck in the denial stage of her grief. She just felt...empty. Each day since Sherlock's death was the same. Get up, go to work, come home, sleep, wash, rinse and repeat.

Her body felt the same. Empty and broken. Food was impossible to keep down and she was just tired all the time. Greg had taken to forcing her to go out again. He said that staying in the flat was dragging her down and the sad part was that he was right but she couldn't bring herself to pick up and leave just yet. All she had left was the memory of their last night together and this place.

If she closed her eyes she could still feel the phantom touch of Sherlock's hands on her, smell his aftershave as he loomed over her and see his stormy grey eyes as he entered her and stormy was the right word. There were so many emotions swirling in his eyes at that moment that Joan had been overwhelmed with the intensity of it. She had wanted to show Sherlock just how much she loved him and believed in him even after Kitty Riley's exposé about Richard Brooke.

Joan had been terrified that Sherlock might have thought that she believed the reporter's elaborate lies but he surprised her. It had been a needy, desperate and, now that she looked back on it, bittersweet night of lovemaking. It had been slow and perfect in every way. Exactly what they both had needed. Joan now knows that Sherlock had to have deduced Moriarty's plan. That he was going to have to die and maybe it had been his way of showing how much he loved Joan without saying it. Maybe it had been a way to give her a happier memory of him other than seeing him jump off of that fucking roof at St. Bart's and see his broken body haunting her dreams. Whatever it had been, it had been amazing and it had hurt.

Slipping out of bed, Joan slowly got ready for the day. The ever present nausea a companion as she forced down dry toast on her way out the door.

The community clinic was her main focus these days. She was about to see her next patient when an email came up on her screen. A check-up. Sarah had been taking an interest in her health since she had come back and had been harassing her about it. "Sick doctors can't treat sick patients" had been her motto and Joan had agreed to keep her off her back. It seemed she was collecting on her promise.

It was another hour before Joan found herself on the other side of the white coat as a patient. Sarah walked in with a carefully neutral expression on her face and a slip of paper. For the first time in two months Joan felt something. Fear.

"What?" Joan laughed nervously.

Sarah sat on the rolling stool. "When was the last time you had a menstrual cycle?"

Joan laughed, relief flowing through her. "Oh my god! You had me bloody terrified! I'm on the Depoprevara shot. I don't have a cycle."

Joan stood and grabbed her clothes from the chair next to the exam table when Sarah's next words stopped her cold. "You missed your last dose, Joan. Remember? You were caught up in a case and forgot."

Her heels slipped from numb fingers as Sarah's insinuation slipped through the fog clouding her mind. She just stood still as the other woman came up behind her and handed her the urinalysis report stating positive on the pregnancy test.

"During your pelvic exam, I could feel that you're probably about eight to ten weeks."

Sarah's words continued. A buzz started to fill her ears. Panic and fear were first to come through. She couldn't do this. It was hard enough just living without him let alone having his child! She never thought that in her 30 years of life that she would be one of those women who considered termination but it was first on her list. Moving on would be impossible. To see a child with Sherlock's eyes or hair or face looking back at her would be too much.

Joan realized Sarah was still talking about maternity leave and support, oblivious that Joan wasn't listening to a word. She pulled on her skirt and top, slipping on her shoes while Sarah was _still _talking! Sarah handed Joan a prescription for prenatal vitamins and it was that that had Joan jerked from her stupor.

"I never had this exam, Sarah. I'm going to need a few days off." She swept out of the room before Sarah could answer and bumped into the new nurse that Sarah had hired.

"Congratulations, Doctor Watson! I took the liberty of making you an appointment at..."

"You made a mistake, Mary. My test results were mixed up with another patient's." Joan snapped and Mary's face morphed into confusion. A frown marring her features.

"No." She shook her head slowly and Joan wanted to shake her. Never had she believed Sherlock's appraisal of idiotic people before today. Mary wasn't taking the hint. "No. I don't think so, Doctor. There has only been men and an elderly lady in today."

"Nurse Morstan. You. Were. Mistaken. Cancel the appointment and clear my schedule for the week." She said it slowly to emphasize her point. Joan was grateful that the woman seemed to understand and meekly left.

Grabbing her messenger bag, Joan left the office and started the walk to the tube station. It was on the walk that Joan cursed Sherlock. She was mad. It was like a final twist of the knife that had been lodged in her heart since his death. Her eyes burned as she fought off tears and started looking up clinics on her phone. She pressed the call button and her signal dropped. She tried again and it failed.

"Goddamn bloody piece of shit phone!" Tears were falling down her cheeks as she tried again when she saw a black Audi slide up next to her. She _really_ did not want to deal with this.

She kept walking, ignoring the car and trying again, only to have her phone turn off completely. She knew it was Mycroft's doing and shoved the phone in her pocket. Her hands clenched into fists at her side. She swung towards the car with a frustrated huff, tension tightening her muscles.

"Piss off, Mycroft." Joan hissed at the car before the window could roll down and stormed off down the pavement. She knew she couldn't evade him forever but she could try. She came up to an alley and was about to cross it when the car pulled in front, blocking her path.

The tinted window rolled down and Mycroft's face came into view. Joan was beyond pissed.

"You shouldn't be walking long distances in your condition, Doctor Watson." He said it so calmly, so matter of fact that Joan wanted to punch him. Out of the corner of her eye she could see two men in suits nearby, hovering. Of course he had known, the bastard.

Joan smiled, a twisted, cold smile that had sent many an intern scrambling. "What? My high arches? I know high-heels can be a bitch but I'm fine. Thanks for your concern." She said acidly.

Mycroft's lips twitched in amusement. "Don't play dumb with me, Joan. It doesn't suit you. Get in the car."

"My mother always told me to not get into cars with strange men." She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and started to walk around the car.

"Don't make me ask again, Doctor."

The implied threat only strengthened as the two men in suits closed in on her. Joan stopped, closing her eyes in frustration. The sound of a car door opening and a hand on her elbow gently guiding her into the car. She opened her eyes when she felt the car move.

"What do you want?"

Up close, Mycroft looked as tired as her. His face was pale, stress lines surrounded his eyes and mouth and he looked like he'd lost weight. She still blamed him for Sherlock's death and she knew he blamed himself as well if his appearance was any indication.

"Start any wars?" She said abruptly.

Mycroft chuckled, relaxing slightly. "Not today but I hear congratulations are in order."

Joan really understood Sherlock's dislike of his brother. Mycroft looked Joan over with assessing eyes, taking in every detail. His gaze stopping briefly on her abdomen before sliding up to her eyes. She could see him cataloging every minuscule detail about her appearance.

"It's not what you think. It's not his." She lied and Mycroft raised an eyebrow in intrigue. Lying to the Holmes brothers never worked. Mycroft shook his head slowly.

"I know that it is, in fact, Sherlock's progeny."

The temptation to punch him was overwhelming.

"I know that my dear brother was the only man you have been intimate with in the past six months."

It was growing harder to resist. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do I even want to know how you know this?"

"Probably not."

"I'm not keeping it. I..." She looked out the window as her eyes burned from tears threatening again. "I can't handle this right now."

The ride was silent for a minute while Joan composed herself. "And anyway, didn't you say that sentiment was for the weak?"

"Choosing life is never for the weak. I believe you're letting your emotions cloud your judgement. What do you believe Sherlock would want?"

Joan's head snapped around. "Thanks to your epic screw-up, I'll never know."

Hurt and guilt flashed through Mycroft's blue eyes but it was quickly gone. "Take until Monday before you finalize your decision. Before my brother died he made me promise him something."

"What?"

"That I would take care of you."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

It did not take someone of Mycroft Holmes's intellect to deduce Joan Watson's state of mind at this moment. As much as he cared for his brother, right now he was angry at him leaving this...complication to the Doctor's recovery behind. Doctor Watson was fragile. Sherlock may not believe it but Mycroft knew better.

Looking at her now, it was hard to believe that this was the proud woman who had been in his office after their meeting with Kitty Riley. Her cold anger and logic had been surprising. The normally bright blue eyes were more like ice rather than summer sky and it had sent a shiver down his spine. The facts, calmly and meticulously laid out by Joan, had impressed Mycroft. Oh, how he had wanted to tell her the truth but it was for her protection. His apology to her as she had left was for more than she knew.

He could see the red in the whites of her eyes, the long blond hair pulled carelessly back in an attempt at proffessionalism, her blouse and skirt haphazardly pulled on after her examination and it screamed at him. Her pain and silence in the car was deafening.

The elder Holmes had been watching her since that day and it had surprised him how far she had fallen. It had been his and his brother's belief that, like most people, she would have been able to move on. Sherlock had been clear in his attempts to manipulate the woman into believing the worst. He had tried to push her away at the end but they should have known that she was loyal to a fault and that Sherlock's last actions with her had had more than one unforeseen consequence. Love.

He saw his parents in her. Her devotion and intelligence was very much like their mother while her common sense and practicality was their father. It was no small wonder that she had stuck by them.

Joan stared out the window, small fists clenched and tears running down her face. She had clearly long ago learned to be silent in pain, whether it was to protect herself from her drunkard father and sister as a child or as the lone female officer in her unit trying to prove herself, Mycroft could only guess.

He knew his presence wasn't welcome but it was necessary. His PA (Celeste, this time) had been attempting to put out the fires as a result of the doctor's medical findings going public. It was proving difficult which was saying something. His well placed agent, Morstan, had failed in her duty to keep the findings private. An unknown leak had occurred and it had become public knowledge. The tabloids had already begun printing. Magnussen was the first to take advantage of this latest twist in the Holmes familial affairs. His motivations weren't clear but it was benign...for now.

His main concern was how Joan would react to this latest development. He had warned his brother that attachments would be his downfall. He just didn't think that they would have been the downfall of those surrounding him.

The vibration of his phone caused him to stop his contemplations. Pulling it out, he read Celeste's text and cursed. The leak had been identified and contained but it was only a matter of time before Watson found out. It was best for her to find out in private before deciding her next move.

He heard the faint buzz of Joan's phone. Predictably, she ignored it. It continued to buzz, almost like a bee vying for her attention and just as annoying. Joan grimaced and pulled it out of her purse, glancing at the screen before rolling her eyes and shoving it back into her bag.

The trip to 221 Baker Street was silent and once they arrived Joan didn't wait for the door to be opened for her. She walked out without a word and stormed up the stairs. Eyeing the straightened knocker, she turned and glared at Mycroft.

"You know that continuously fixing this shows you have a likely case of OCD." She snapped.

The young blond set the knocker back at an angle and walked in without shutting the door, knowing that the elder Holmes would follow.

The flat looked very different from this morning's surveillance and Mycroft was impressed at his PA's quick work. It was now clean and habitable, safe for a pregnant woman. The kitchen table had been cleared of the chemistry set and all dangerous chemicals had been removed, the refrigerator stocked and cleaned as well as the laundry had been done.

Joan had taken one look and stiffened before placing an unsuccessful mask of indifference on. "Real subtle, Mycroft."

Mycroft repressed a sigh of frustration. He had known it was going to take a while for Watson to forgive him...if ever. He just hoped for the child's sake that she would.

"What do you want?" Joan lowered herself into her chair and kicked off her shoes.

She watched him and it was remarkable how similar to Sherlock she was then, picking up his habits like a second nature. Blue eyes carefully tracked his movements and patiently waited while he took his seat on the couch.

"Why are you so interested in me now?" She didn't wait for him to reply. "It's not like I'm a target anymore. Not since-" She turned away to compose herself. "You want me to keep it, don't you?"

Mycroft felt as if a cord was winding around his chest, tightening with Joan's cold words.

"Yes."

"Why?" She pinned him with her gaze. "Is it to try and assuage your guilt? Where was your concern and care when he was alive? Where was it when you were feeding him to the damn sharks?"

A deep breath in. "I re-live that day every night, Mycroft! If I had just been faster or smarter then maybe he wouldn't have jumped." Her shoulders slumped in defeat and he wanted to reach out to her.

"I'm not strong enough to do this." She whispered.

Mycroft smiled. "That is where you are wrong, Doctor Watson. I know you are strong enough. After all, your time with my brother has already gifted you with the ability to care for immature, curly-haired geniuses and I anticipate my niece or nephew to be a similar handful."

A mix of a sob and a laugh and he knew that he had said the right thing. Perhaps this would be a good thing for the doctor. Even though she was bent, she wasn't broken and that could be fixed.

Another buzz from Watson's phone drew her attention from Mycroft. His own phone buzzed with an email from his PA. She included copies of the articles related to the leak as well as a chart detailing public opinions. Negative opinions were quickly being traced for security threats. Celeste had already raised the security surrounding the doctor and made her follow-up appointment for tomorrow even going so far as to rearrange his Joint Intelligence Committee meeting to later in the afternoon in case he was attending the appointment with Dr. Watson.

Joan scrolled through her emails and was puzzled by the sheer amount. Notifications of comments to her blog, her Facebook and her twitter account were the majority of them. Logging on to her blog, she quickly saw what the commotion was about. There were the usual condolences about Sherlock but the latest comments had her gripping her phone hard enough for the plastic to creak. It was Sherlock all over again. It had to be. Mycroft or someone from his team had told the press to try and manipulate her.

"It wasn't my team that compromised your privacy."

"Why don't I believe you?" Joan muttered as she continued to read through the comments, most supportive but some hurtful. There were only two people that had known about her results that quickly and Sarah wouldn't have done this. Mary was the odd one out, the new employee. Easily forgettable, quiet, has access to everything...

"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice..." Joan glared at civil servant. "I think you should leave."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Mycroft's PA, Estelle this week, was pulling out the latest reports to hand to her boss. The main concern was Shining Dawn, a pro-death cult that was gaining strength. Their belief was that the human species was a stain on the earth and that it needed to be culled. They had agents analyzing the last bomb that had been discovered from the group and the investigation was going smoothly but slowly.

Second on her professional agenda was the nuclear trade agreement in Saudi Arabia. There were multiple arguments for and against the knowledge of nuclear power being traded for guaranteed oil prices for the next twenty years. It was of vital importance that things go smoothly...either way. Estelle sighed as she pulled up her next document. Doctor Watson.

Estelle was impressed at the doctor's resourcefulness and observational skills with regards to the MI-5 officers tailing her but it was frustrating that certain things were...unknown.

In the past month, the doctor had carefully and seamlessly orchestrated her move from private practice to working at University College Hospital A&E. She had also moved to a small two bedroom flat on Euston street.

Apparently, anger had been more than enough motivation for her to move on. Mr. Holmes had been...upset was an understatement, apoplectic with anger was closer to accurate. He was extremely worried about the doctor working in a busy casualty. Estelle understood Dr. Watson's need to keep busy. Working in the A&E was an adrenaline rush as close to her time with Sherlock as she could substitute.

Unfortunately, it had the tendency to concern the elder Holmes. Her cold, aloof behavior had had the unexpected consequence of influencing Mr. Holmes's behavior. He had started becoming harsh, unfeeling and every bit of his moniker, The Ice Man, going so far as not showing any reaction or care when an asset was lost due to an agent's mishandling of the case. The asset had been a 16 year old boy and the task of informing the grieving family had been left to her.

"Estelle! Where is the file from our CIA liaison?"

Mycroft walked into her small office, glare in place, holding a file on Michael Monroe. Their information was two years out of date as the movement had originated in the US.

"It's on your desk, sir."

He grunted in reply and left quickly, slamming his door behind him. Glancing at the clock, Estelle saw that Watson should have been home from her shift at UC Hospital. It was time to do something.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joan stretched and pulled on her pajama pants, her King's college shirt and bathrobe. She was about to head to the sitting room when she heard a small sound. It was barely a shuffle of cloth but Joan's keen senses picked it up. She could feel her heart speed up, adrenaline sharpening her senses to where very little noise was deafening.

Tiptoeing around her bed, Watson carefully opened her bedside drawer and pulled out her gun. It's weight was a secure feeling in her hands. She clicked off the safety as her door opened and twisted, aiming.

"Seriously?"

Anthea, Cecilia, whatever the fuck her name was stood in her doorway, eyebrow raised in curiosity and slight amusement. Joan dropped her arm and the air left her in a whoosh.

"Dr. Watson." She greeted.

Joan glared and clicked on the safety on her sig and shoved it back into her drawer, shutting it with a bang causing her lamp to rattle.

"I could have shot you!" Watson snapped.

It was strange seeing the PA without her blackberry. Joan raised an arm and ushered her to the living room where the brunette sat primly, giving the doctor an intense look.

"You know? You people must love showing off your walking through walls skills." Shaking her head, she sat across from her and leaned back in her armchair.

"I would offer you tea since you made yourself at home but, as you see, I was about to go to bed."

The PA pursed her lips in irritation at the cool tone but otherwise remained unaffected. "I think it was time we had a talk."

"So, instead of spying we'll actually have a conversation?"

She rolled her eyes and stiffened. "Yes, doctor. As you know, the surveillance is for your protection. Like Hydra, in Greek mythology, even though the head of the serpent was severed, two more can grow in it's place. It's the same with Moriarty's criminal network and you are a prime target due to your association with both Holmes brothers."

She gave a tight smile. "Though, I must say, you are certainly creating a challenge for our MI-5 officers and improving their training skills."

Joan snorted and crossed her arms over her chest but couldn't help the small smile that crept up. Sherlock had taught her well.

"What I came here to discuss was my employer."

A tendril of worry crept in at the other woman's expression of concern. She was angry at the man but didn't want him to get hurt.

"What's wrong? Is he sick?" A thousand scenarios ran through her mind, everything from a cold to a heart attack, not even including the high risks associated with his job.

In her concern, she failed to notice the interested sparkle in the assistant's eyes.

"No. He's not sick, per se, but he isn't himself." She leaned back and crossed her legs, making Joan nervous.

"I came here to discuss a few things. I promise you that it was not our people that leaked your pregnancy though we were too slow in discovering it to stop it. On that count, we are guilty."

Joan's mouth tightened. God help her, she believed her. "It still doesn't excuse what he did to Sherlock. I know why he did it but the ends do not always justify the means."

Anthea's (or whatever she's calling herself this week) eyes went cold. "Contrary to popular belief, he is not a god. He is a man, just as flawed as any other. He is under enormous pressure. Perhaps even more so with the decisions he has to make daily and the rift between the two of you adds to that pressure."

A deep breath. "You lost your best friend but Mr. Holmes lost his brother. Do you not realize the enormous guilt he has over the situation?"

When it was put that way, it started to hit closer to home. Joan closed her eyes and took a slow breath, about to start but the brunette wasn't done.

"He wanted to talk with you, keep you safe and even be a part of your life. _Especially_, now that he has a niece or nephew on the way. It is a part of his brother, a part of his family and you pushed him away. He may act cold and distant, that sentiment and love are beneath him but if you got to know him then you'd see that he is not like that. It's a front to protect himself and others and he's acting the part more than ever since that day."

Joan could see the sincerity behind the woman's words but it was still hard to forgive him. The lines around her mouth tightened. "Okay."

She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "Just...just set up a meeting."

The smile from her guest almost made her wonder if she'd made a deal with the devil.

Throwing a hand up, Joan halted her departure. "Somewhere normal for once, yeah?"

The grin widened. "Of course, doctor. Thank you for your time."

After she left, Watson wondered just what she had agreed to.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was another week before she heard anything from Mycroft's people. She had just finished setting a shoulder and was walking to the cafeteria when she saw him.

Mycroft Holmes was standing just to the left of the exit in the waiting room looking distinctly uncomfortable and gripping his umbrella with unnatural tightness.

The temptation to turn back around was overwhelming but when Joan looked closer she could see the tension in the man's frame, lines around his mouth and eyes and the slight tremor in his hands. Only her skills as a doctor and her time with Sherlock made seeing those things possible.

She wondered if anyone had talked with him about how he was doing. She'd had support from Molly, NSY and her co-workers. It would have been awkward for Mycroft to get support from his PA and other than her she'd never seen him speak with anyone else.

Watson knew he'd seen her but he was waiting for her to make the first move. Adjusting her lab coat, she walked over attempting to look friendly but from the expression on the elder Holmes's face, she wasn't that successful.

"Mycroft, did you need to see a doctor?"

He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon at her question. At least Joan could add dislike of check-ups to her knowledge of Mycroft.

"No, doctor. Apparently, a lunch appointment was in my calendar and this was the location."

Joan inwardly laughed at the idea of Mycroft's PA putting one over him.

"Well, it must have been a typo."

"Clearly." Mycroft growled. Watson felt bad for the other woman considering his reaction.

"Well, since you're here, did you want to get a bite to eat?"

Mycroft's eyes widened slightly in surprise and the small quirk of his lips made Joan smile.

"Don't think I don't know that this was meddling, pure and simple."

His glare had a glint of warmth and Watson led him to the doctor's lounge to grab her coat. She had a feeling that the elder Holmes wouldn't appreciate cafeteria food.

"I think she was concerned and I can see why." Turning, she could see closer the details that had been hidden in the poor waiting room light. He'd lost at least five pounds, dark circles surrounded his eyes and the way he held himself suggested extreme muscle tension.

"I'm sorry." Watson told him and Mycroft's shoulders loosened slightly.

Joan turned to her locker and opened it. The sight that met her eyes was strange to say the least. A bouquet of orange lilies with a single black rose in the center was in the space next to her coat. No note.

As she moved forward to pick up the flowers, Mycroft moved ahead of her, gently pushing her away. Lifting the bouquet, he looked it over with a frown.

"I know Halloween is in a few weeks but this is just silly." Watson's heart sped up at the look of concern from Mycroft. They were just flowers.

"Do you know what the meaning of certain flowers is?" His voice was quiet as he turned the bouquet slowly in his gloved hand, his eyes roving over the paper for something that Joan didn't understand.

Racking her brain, she couldn't think of anything but the meanings behind roses. "Not really."

He gently touched the orange lilies, his fingers feather-like in their scrutiny. "Orange lilies can have multiple meanings. Virginity, passion but in this case I think the meaning is extreme hatred and dislike."

Watson tensed, eyebrows drawn in skepticism. "I think that's a bit extreme, don't you think?" After all, the fall season was here. Oranges, yellows, browns and blacks were everywhere in decorations.

Mycroft tilted the flowers and pulled the single rose out. It's color was startling. What was more surprising was that it wasn't plastic. It was a true black rose. No hints of the petals being dyed or colored. "This is why I think the latter meaning. This is a Turkish Halfeta rose. Extremely rare and an endangered species. It blooms bright red in the summer but turns such a dark crimson, it appears black. To see one in bloom is a once in a lifetime circumstance. It is also believed to signify death."

His cool grey eyes slid up to meet hers and the intensity made a shiver of fear crawl down her spine. "Someone went to a lot of trouble to deliver this message to you."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Mycroft looked up from the blooms he was inspecting, his mind whirling with the possibilities. Joan was eyeing him skeptically and a touch suspicious.

"I think most of London still thinks of me in a negative light thanks to Kitty Riley. So if the flowers are a message, and I'm not agreeing that they are, then they could be from anyone. I get a lot of hate mail." Joan's eyes darkened. "Until Sherlock's name is cleared by Scotland Yard publicly, I doubt I'm going to get a lot of peace."

The elder Holmes brother put the flowers back where he had picked them from, a twinge of guilt twisting his stomach. It was one thing to see the collateral damage caused by his and Sherlock's actions in a report but face to face, it was quite another.

"Come on. We'll just grab something from the cafeteria. I don't feel up to going to the café across the street."

Watson turned and walked out of the lounge, smoothing the fly aways in her hair with a shaking hand. While she was distracted, he quickly sent off a message to his PA about the situation. He needed more data. This was not a simple hate message. The effort involved with acquiring that specific rose was immense.

Joan led him through the myriad of corridors to the lower levels of the hospital, her entire body signaled her discomfort at the situation. She grabbed a tray and Mycroft cringed at the abysmal selection of what was considered food under the warmers. He watched in horror as Joan ordered her food of chips and gravy and balked at Joan's urging of him to do the same.

Joan smiled deviously as Mycroft picked at the concoction on his plate. After ten minutes of prodding the stuff, he couldn't pretend any longer. "This is atrocious."

Joan laughed quietly. "It's not too bad. The chips are the safest thing on the menu. That's why I get them." She proceeded to swirl a chip in the brown liquid and pop it into her mouth. "I've had worse when I'm on the night shift."

"You don't have to work here. Sherlock left everything to you. There's more than enough for you to retire in comfort." The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself. Joan's answering glare was enough to dispel that hope.

"I'm quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much. I need to work." She cleaned her face with the napkin and sighed. "It was hard, at first, but working makes it easier. It's when it's quiet that it gets hard again." Sighing, Joan frowned to pull her more vulnerable emotions into check. "I was lucky to get a position here after that fiasco with my records getting out."

As she fiddled with the serviette, Mycroft couldn't help but admire her. Strong, independent and forgiving. Her only fault was her stubbornness at accepting help. She was irritatingly resourceful at avoiding him much like Sherlock was. This meeting was clearly on her terms even though it hadn't quite gone to plan.

"If you must work...here, then I need to increase your security. Clearly it is subpar if someone is able to access your belongings in the doctor's lounge."

"Flowers will not send me running into the arms of your minions, especially when there isn't any proof they aren't an innocent Halloween gesture. I can take care of myself." She smiled tightly. "I think your experience in your type of work has made you a little paranoid, Mycroft."

"Maybe it hasn't made me paranoid enough." He countered.

"I won't have you putting any more cameras in my flat."

He barely restrained rolling his eyes. It had been irritating that every time he had set up the security of Dr. Watson's home, she returned and dismantled the entire set-up within minutes. He was curious about how she had become so adept in discovering some of the Security Service's most advanced equipment.

The most embarrassing instance had been when she had gone outside her flat carrying two cups of tea in disposable cups and simply walked up to his stationed agents, handed them the hot drinks, scolded them on not wearing warm enough attire for the weather and told them to go home before they caught their death or come inside of they were going to continue their ridiculous surveillance. She then proceeded to tell them all the ways they went wrong in their surveillance techniques.

Pushing the plate aside, he leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of him. "I am wondering how you are able to find all of my attempts to keep you safe."

Joan's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"Oh, yes."

Watson's answering smile was an impressive impersonation of a certain Cheshire cat. "Every girl's gotta have secrets. I'm sure you understand. Though the microphone in the lightbulb almost threw me for a loop."

"And I am rather curious as to where it is you go every Thursday night." Mycroft practically growled.

"Secrets, Mycroft." Her eyebrows drew together. Clearly surprised at her success at evading his attempts at information gathering. It really was infuriating but he was patient. "When I'm ready, I'll let you know."

She started drumming her fingers on the table, blue eyes darting nervously. "So...this was...interesting."

"How are you feeling?" Throwing one's opponent off-track was the best way to ensure an accurate reading. He watched as Joan's eyes flicked to her mobile, to her pager and even to the entrance to the cafeteria, searching for avenues of escape. She was about to reply when a tall well built man in scrubs jogged up to her.

Mycroft frowned when the man put his hand on her shoulder, the easy familiarity made him uncomfortable. He could smell cologne, not a cheap brand either, freshly applied. A small dot of toothpaste on his cheek, clearly wanted to be fresh. His smile when he looked down at Joan was very friendly, more than what one colleague would bestow on another. Slight stiffness in his gait, clearly started working out recently. His hair was freshly combed even though it had not required it.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your lunch, Joan, but we're about to get a shooting victim. A police officer. Paramedics weren't specific." On the contrary, this..he eyed the ID tag...Dr. Shawn Phillips was not sorry at all. He had been hoping for an excuse to be near Joan, his breathing accelerated when she returned his smile and started to stand.

"I'll be there in a minute, Shawn."

He was disappointed but nodded and left them, Joan's eyes following him out of the room. Mycroft's stomach twisted, the sensation of bands tightening around his chest made his heart start to beat quicker. He made a note to look closer into Dr. Phillips' records. For Dr. Watson's safety, of course.

"I'll show you out." Joan waited while he stood and guided him back the way they came.

Once they came to the A & E doors, she paused, nervousness flaring again. "It was...interesting to see you again. Maybe next time without the paranoia, yeah?"

At least she was agreeing to a next time. He nodded and moved away as she went her own way. He was halfway through the door when he spotted Dr. Phillips wrap an arm around Joan's waist as he guided her to the ambulance bay. Joan didn't shrug him off but she didn't lean into his touch either, simply accepting the contact. The twisting sensation returned with a vengeance.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Watson shrugged off Shawn's hands as the ambulance backed to the double doors, snapping on her gloves and pulling on her gown as the doors opened. Paramedics immediately pulled out the stretcher. A flash of curly black hair and mocha skin and Joan recognized her patient. Sally Donovan. Today just wasn't her day.

"Patient is a thirty-four year old female, gunshot wound to the right flank. Pulse is 90, BP 120/80, blood glucose 90, resps 20, temp is 37 degrees Celsius, O2 sats stable at 95. We've started a line and put up a liter of saline."

Joan let the paramedics words wash over her, eyes darting to the wrapped gauze on Donovan's ribs. Blood was there but she looked stable and pretty damn mad. They moved down the hall in a careful team, Joan at her patient's side.

"Ok, we'll need an x-Ray, CBC, chem seven and hemocrit."

Sally's head snapped up, her features paling at hearing Watson's voice. "Hello, Ms. Donovan."

She couldn't help smiling at her terrified expression. "I'm just going to have a look. How are you feeling?"

The woman on the stretcher gaped, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Watson put on her stethoscope and listened to Donovan's lungs and heart. All four quadrants clear, no crackles. Steady heart beat. Donovan shied away from her touch as she reached for the gauze covering the wound.

"Two of dilaudid, Patac." Watson snapped. She moved away and behind the screen as the portable x-ray was wheeled in and Donovan's shirt was cut off the rest of the way so a gown could be put on.

By the time the results were back, Donovan's pain meds had kicked in. The lines of discomfort had eased from her face and the shock had cleared, leaving her calm but still slightly apprehensive. The tech handed her the film and Watson held it up so it was visible to the room.

"Lungs are clear, no bullet or bone fragmentation, looks like the bullet ricocheted off the 7th rib." She smiled down at her patient. "You got very lucky."

"Crit is 14.2."

"Thank you, Patac." Turning to Shawn, she waved him off. "I've got this."

"I'll need a suture kit, saline and lidocaine." She situated herself on a rolling stool, kit in a tray next to her. She started to cut and remove the gauze to get a better look at the damage.

"I want a different doctor."

Joan raised her eyebrow, looking up from her work. It had been the first words the other woman had spoken. Clearly, the dilaudid had done it's job. In place of the fear and pain was the more familiar Sally Donovan. Confident, angry, shrewd to a point.

"I'm not going to stitch my initials into you if that's what you're thinking."

Donovan's eyes focused on her, looking her over, a sneer curling her lips. "So, I see it's true then? He got you up the duff before he offed himself."

The cold words stung. It took a lot of effort to remain calm and continue to do her job, ignoring the cruel jibe. She started cleaning the wound. It was an ugly gash.

"I don't even know how it happened considering all your denials, Watson."

Joan grit her teeth. "I'm sure you must know how babies are made." She hissed, thinking of all the times Sherlock had inferred about her affair with Anderson.

She was about to drape and prepare for stitching when Donovan moved away quickly, gasping. "He told you! He told you about us?"

Joan's jaw dropped, shock making her fingers numb. Fortunately, she recovered before her lapse was seen. Sally and Sherlock? "No." Joan replied hesitantly. "You just did."

"Well...it was a long time ago and it was only once. Knew he was a freak even then when he couldn't handle the possibility of a relationship." She growled.

Joan ground her teeth and took a small amount of pleasure at Donovan's hissing as she injected the lidocaine. "You clearly have a bad habit of picking men who don't want to commit to you, Sally. Anderson, Sherlock." Pausing for effect. "How is Anderson's wife, anyway? I heard she's on her third baby." She started threading the silk through the wound, carefully stitching up the belligerent woman.

"No, it was his problem! At least he didn't jump off a building after having sex with me."

It was like Donovan had stabbed her in the heart, the sub-cutaneous stitches Watson had finished started to blur as angry tears burned her eyes. She took a shaky breath and wiped her eyes on her shoulder, continuing to finish her job.

Once the wound was neatly stitched, Watson stood. "Keep them clean and dry and in seven days your GP can remove them. I'm prescribing Keflex since you're allergic to penicillin. I'd invest in a Kevlar vest to prevent something like this from happening again. There are armed and specially trained officers. Let them do their job and stop being so stupid."

She was about to leave but couldn't bring herself to do it yet. Leaving like this would just let Donovan think she'd won. "I didn't think anyone could be that much of a bitch all of the time. Did you ever stop to wonder about the possibility that he liked you? Maybe that he was afraid and that was why he constantly harped on you? Little boys tend to pull the pigtails of girls they like."

Donovan looked like she'd been slapped. Horrified realization dawning on her. Sometimes it took an outsider to show you what you missed. A light shining in the dark to lead the way. She needed to see that he was human. "Even through the entire thing, he respected you enough to know that you would come to the logical conclusion of his alleged guilt. Not the correct conclusion but the one that most good detectives would have come to."

Spinning on her heel, Watson left while she held on to the upper hand. Her calm attitude was rapidly crumbling. She made it halfway down the hall before she had to stop, her heart feeling like it was breaking all over again. Talking about him-damn, even thinking about him just twisted the knife in her heart deeper.

Donovan's words buzzed around her head. Joan pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, feeling the cold sweat on her upper lip. She had to force herself to take deep breaths, swallowing the bile threatening to come up. The thought of Sherlock with Donovan hurt less than she thought it would have but what did sting was the fact that he had opened himself up...made himself vulnerable to her and she had acted like it was nothing. That he had just been a typical man. He was anything but typical.

Joan pressed her other hand to her abdomen, where a tiny life was growing. She wondered if Sherlock would have approved, if he would have grown even closer to her because of it or if he'd have left out of fear. Maybe distance himself or push her and the baby away. Or would he have been overbearing and want to know everything about everything? Obsessively compile data about his...no, their developing child? He should be here!

"Doctor?" Joan wiped her face and closed her eyes, taking a cleansing breath.

"Doctor? I was wondering if you've heard anything about Sergeant Donovan?"

A hand gripped her arm, turning her gently to see Greg's pale face which quickly turned to surprise when he realized who he was talking to.

"Joan? How are you?" He asked carefully, his eyes darting up and down her form taking in her, most likely, splotched face and small hint of a bump, hidden as it was under her loose scrubs.

"I'm fine, Greg."

"Like hell you are but you will be." He reached over and pulled her into a gruff hug, like a brother would give to a sister. Joan held him back, fisting the material to keep him close.

"I know. I know." He whispered into her hair. Joan closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of security for a moment before the sounds of the A & E reached her, reminding her that she was on duty. She pulled back, flushing slightly at her display of emotion but Greg wouldn't have any of it. He held onto her upper arms, smiling.

"Thank you."

Greg shrugged and let go, still eyeing her.

"Sally's back to her usual charming self. Stitched her up and she'll be ready to go in an hour or two."

"I'll bet she liked that." He said ruefully.

Joan smiled grimly. "Something like that."

They walked to Exam 3 where Donovan was, a peaceful silence settled between them. She missed Greg. Lestrade had always been the calming voice of reason, the pillar of reason for them all.

"How is the investigation going?" Though she said it quietly, it was like a cannon had exploded. Lestrade stopped suddenly, looking uncomfortable.

Joan scowled. "You know damn well he was innocent. He didn't kill Moriarty and that man on the roof was not Richard Brook. I know you did DNA testing and even Anderson, incompetent fool that he is, can see from the bullet's trajectory that it was suicide. Release the statement."

"We only got the results today."

"Then release the statement."

"It's not that simple, Joan."

Joan hated politics. The need to have everything tied up neatly before the public could be made aware of certain facts. "I don't know if you realize but this is affecting me in more ways than one. Not to mention that the real Richard Brook's parents deserve to know that the boy they buried wasn't their son. That their son is still missing and wasn't the lunatic that ate a bullet on that roof."

Greg looked at her carefully, narrowing his eyes. "What do you mean it's affecting you in more ways than one? Is there something you need to tell me?"

Trust Lestrade to pick up on that. "It's nothing. Just...forget it."

Lestrade practically growled, big brother instincts kicking in. "Has someone been threatening you?"

She thought back to Mycroft's words, the comments to her blog and mail that had just been thrown out unopened since Sherlock's death. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm just saying it's hard, you know?"

He still looked suspicious but dropped the subject at the obvious dismissal.

"When you do release the statement..." Joan smiled like a shark, a cruel idea taking place. "...I want Sally Donovan to do it. I think she's more than earned the right to make amends for her meddling, don't you think?"

Greg shook his head, chuckling at the thought of Sally having to be the one to recant everything she'd ever said. "Consider it done."


End file.
